Touched
by EOlivet
Summary: It was too easy to fall into the familiarity of this scene.


Disclaimer: The characters described herein belong to Hank Steinberg, Jerry Bruckheimer Television Productions and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Timeline: Post-Confidence. Jack and Samantha pairing.  
  
Rating: TV-14.  
  
A/N: I tried to keep this true to character for the show as it is now, but after a discussion on the subject, I decided these actions could definitely be interpreted as having an affair - and that was not my intent. So if you feel that is the case, please suspend your disbelief and.you know.pretend that it's not. ;) And yes, this is the second "Buffy" title I've stolen. Sorry, Joss. Don't worry - I won't steal "Doublemeat Palace" -- I promise. J  
  
Acknowledgments: Much :wub: to S, who gave me so much encouragement and support for this story, and to D for her undying, wonderful enthusiasm!!! Thanks as always to MSt for setting the fic bar so high.  
  
***  
  
Touched  
  
***  
  
As she reached up to switch off the light glowing dimly over her workspace, the sleeve of her blouse slipped from her elbow. Her hand froze, mid- action, as she regarded her now exposed arm, noting it was sporting a slightly darker tint than normal. She couldn't stop her lips from curving upwards in amusement. After only a day in a more temperate climate, she'd gotten a tan.  
  
These musings were interrupted by the unmistakable patter of footsteps disturbing the empty office. Cautiously, she rose, grabbed something from her desk and headed toward the noise.  
  
A light switched on and her eyes quickly found the source, as her head shook disbelievingly to herself. Approaching the newfound light, she wished, with a tinge of regret, that this had happened three weeks ago.  
  
It was too easy to fall into the familiarity of the scene, pulling open the door before her arms gathered protectively, invitingly up around her chest, her shoulder grazing the closed blinds of the wall where she was leaning.  
  
"Burning the midnight oil, Samantha?" he addressed her without looking up. He stood there shuffling papers and folders on the desk, hunched over his task.  
  
"Jet lag -- you know, so it only feels like eight o'clock to me."  
  
Now he did look up, answering her volley with a wry smirk. "You were there for a day."  
  
Undaunted, she raised her eyebrows in return. With a knowing nod, she replied, "And to think, I heard that this case made you cranky."  
  
"Where'd you hear that?" He gave her a look of utter indifference when he briefly raised his eyes to respond.  
  
She shrugged, twisting her lips in ignorance.  
  
Holding her glance for a second, he then shifted his focus back to the papers on his desk. "You need new sources," he remarked, apparently finding the folder he wanted and heading for the door.  
  
Impulsively, she stepped in front of him.  
  
His breath hitched, but he stayed trapped between the desk and the door. His gaze trapped the words in her throat, although he hadn't spoken either.  
  
"I..." Her voice was lower now. "I brought you something." She unfolded her arms, producing an object, which she cupped in her hands, holding it up for his perusal. Against his chest.  
  
A hint of a smile broke through. "An orange," he declared. The folder forgotten, his hands came up to her chest, his fingers tapping the smooth skin of the fruit. Sweeping across the small sphere, they gently collided with hers.  
  
Biting back a sigh, she only allowed her eyelashes to fall partially shut.  
  
"An orange," he repeated, his voice falling even further than her eyelashes.  
  
She swallowed, blinked and nodded in one fluid motion. "A...California orange," she informed him.  
  
"You got it on the plane."  
  
The protests dropped from her tongue and head bobbed obediently, affirmatively. "I..." Her words were a wisp of sound through half-closed eyes. "I thought you liked oranges."  
  
Instead of responding, one of his hands removed the gift from hers, placing it on the desk behind him. Her hands stayed poised, as if she was still holding the fruit -- palms up, fingers slightly curled. The fingertips of his free hand lightly cradled them. Drawn to her skin, they trailed into her palm and down to the underside of her hand, which flipped over at his exploratory touch.  
  
Softly, she expelled a quiet breath. Darkness found her eyes for a second before they blinked back, barely open. Her lips parted, unable to put that neutral expression back into place.  
  
His hand continued along her hand, over the face of her watch and soon finding the loose cuff of her blouse. There, he brought his gaze to her arm as the material pushed up to her elbow. "You got sun."  
  
"Little bit." She choked out the words as a gasp.  
  
One hand still possessed her elbow, while the other settled on the forearm of her untouched hand, dancing up to her shoulder. His fingers flicked out against her collar, finding her neck and this time she could not suppress her sigh.  
  
Her mind fought through the haze for an appropriate remark not consisting entirely of gasps and groans. "And they...said you were cranky," she managed, drawing in a breath as if the sentence had expended all her energy.  
  
The fingers on her collar found her temple, and the hair loosely falling out of her end-of-day ponytail.  
  
"A man..."  
  
Through her hair, down her cheek...  
  
"...killed a woman..."  
  
...down her cheek and across her jaw line...  
  
"...he said he loved..."  
  
...one finger pressed over, one under, tilting her chin...  
  
"...because of a secret..."  
  
Releasing his fingers, they glanced down the side of her neck. "You got a lot of sun."  
  
Instinctively, she let her head fall back as his fingertips roamed across the hollow of her neck and upper chest peeking out from the vee of her blouse.  
  
Her free arm rose, her hand resting on the top of her blouse as her fingers freed the first button.  
  
His hand dipped lower -- lower, but not low enough. Again, the scene flickered before her, as she exhaled sharp puffs of air.  
  
Breathless, she moved her fingers, brushing them against his forehead, reveling in the groan that rumbled from his throat. She carefully pushed back the stray hair out of his face.  
  
The only warning she gave him when she was done was a smile.  
  
Bracing herself, fingers now clinging to his shoulder, she extended her foot and nuzzled it up his leg. Over his ankle to his calf until it hooked just below his thigh. He was not looking at her anymore -- his eyes squeezed shut, breath escaping at an increasingly rapid rate through now perpetually parted lips.  
  
"Got sun on my legs too," she rasped, dryly.  
  
"Mmm-hmm," was his only comment. The hand on her chest found her leg just above the ankle and ventured as her foot had done -- from the back of her calf up until it drew back her skirt and disappeared, taking his hand, hiding the cuff of his shirt, then obscuring the bottom of his coat sleeve...  
  
"Ah--ahh," she begged, pleaded, gasped, but before she could speak further, he drew his hand away. Dropped her arm. Fixed his eyes upon her -- shocked, unfulfilled. Concerned.  
  
Her foot fell from his leg, her hand leaving his shoulder, and she returned the stare. Confused and...  
  
Finally, a small smile. "Remind me not to send you on any more vacations," he muttered, only half-kidding.  
  
Their proximity made her bolder. "Or next time, just come with me." An eyebrow lifted, daring him to challenge her. Then after a moment, her expression softened. "I missed you."  
  
She was standing across from him one minute and the next, he had grabbed her hips and pulled her closer. A chorus of heavy breaths filled the air scorching between them.  
  
His hands faded in and out with her vision, as she saw him place his palms by either side of her head -- so close, but not close enough to actually touch her. He caressed the air surrounding her, through her hair and down her neck and shoulders, to her chest, down to her thighs and back up again.  
  
Her control snapped and her hands clenched over the lapels of his coat, jerking him towards her. Their eyes locked as their faces lingered together -- breath connecting even as their lips were not. Once, she lowered her eyes, parted her lips and dipped her head... but stopped. Once...he did the same.  
  
Then, she tentatively stepped back, allowing him more space than he'd had since she first entered the room.  
  
Exhaling a long, shaky breath, he picked up the folder that had seemingly been forgotten from the moment she'd first pulled his office door open. Another breath -- this one sounded more controlled. His gaze sought hers, and she could swear she could still feel his hands on her body. A third breath held an air of finality.  
  
That smirk returned -- weaker, but no less potent. "Wear some sunscreen next time, will ya?"  
  
She smirked back at him, and raised a slightly amused eyebrow. "Not a chance," she promised, her hand finding the door handle.  
  
The folder again drew his attention for a second, before he returned his focus to her. "Thanks for the gift." After a moment, he reached for the orange on his desk -- holding it up as if to remind them both about the forgotten fruit.  
  
Her head nodded in acknowledgment. "You too," she forced out, past the surge of emotion that had unexpectedly filled her throat.  
  
Their stare was longing...wistful...and brief, as she abruptly broke contact, pulled open the door and slipped back into the darkness outside.  
  
The light still shone faintly on her desk and she waited until his light extinguished its matching glow.  
  
Biting her lip, she took a shaky breath. Fingertips brushed over tightly closed eyelids when she inhaled a second time. The third, however, caught on a small sob, and she quickly rose, gathering up her things, finally switching off her light.  
  
On her way out, she deliberately passed his office, peering uncertainly through the door.  
  
The orange was gone.  
  
Somehow, that was enough to make her smile so that her eyes were drier and her heart did not feel as tainted as her sun-darkened skin. She continued to the elevator, colder than when she'd stepped off the plane that had taken her home, and yet warmer than when she'd arrived in the place that had taken her away.  
  
The End. 


End file.
